mirrors on the wall
by Liberty Love and Roses
Summary: you are simply too big a dreamer, leaf green; should you wake up— and one day, you will have to— we shall all miss you severely. / in which Leaf enters a magic library.— OldRival (LeafGary), a fantasy slice-of-life, AU


**So! I'm writing something new!**

**And yes, I hear you when you say, "But Liberty, you still have a million other stories that you've promised to update! Where on good earth are your priorities?"**

**The answer to that, is that you are absolutely right and my priorities have, unfortunately, escaped me— but! But I WILL update the other stuff, one day. You have my (unreliable) word.**

**But yes, new fanfic! And a multi-chapter one at that. A nice, little OldRivalshipping thing, since I've been craving it (btw, any recommendations for fics with this ship are welcome! I need something to read).**

**This is very much an experimental fic too, as I'm definitely testing my boundaries with the fantasy genre (never written in this genre before) and a bit more attention to setting (which I suck at, and am trying to practice it by writing this). **

**Genres: Fantasy/Romance/Angst— how much angst, I do not know, but there will be some.**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, as per usual. The cover art is not mine, but if anyone knows who the artist is, please contact me so I can credit them!**

* * *

_mirrors on the wall_

_**.**_

_you are simply too big a dreamer, leaf green; should you wake up— and one day, you will have to— we shall all miss you severely. / in which Leaf enters a magic library.— OldRival (LeafGary)_

* * *

An innocent girl stumbles into a mirror and gets transported into another world— what's new? Leaf closes the book with a sigh, throwing her head back against her beanbag.

The premise is so old now, so overdone, that the brunette can't even fathom attempting to complete the remaining story. What riveting plot could it possibly entail to justify finishing it?

(_At least give it a chance._)

"Absolutely not," Leaf hisses, teeth gritted. She slots the novel back into the bookshelf and slings her bag over her shoulder before briskly walking out the library, offering a departing nod to the librarian as she goes.

The librarian— a frail, small woman, her skin scored by the tendrils of time, but with the most eccentric sense of fashion Leaf has ever bore witness to (note: feathered beret in an electric purple hue, her neck draped in pearls, her black cardigan _intentionally_ frayed to the nines, a gaudy gold ring, and a puffed skirt in the hottest pink imaginable)— returns her nod with the warmest smile.

Leaf hurries away, and she can't help but muse: she has never seen eyes quite as cold, nor as empty, as that old lady's.

* * *

The library neighbours a cluster of rustic bungalows, autumnal ivy seeping out and lining the bricks. A lantern hangs off an ornate, black bracket near the entrance of the pub, the light dim and flickering against the sunset.

Leaf unchains her bicycle and nestles her chin into her scarf.

A little far off, a silhouette in the horizon, is a quaint, little bridge that arches over a stream. Leaf pedals as fast as she can, across the bridge— the stream is a murky, golden-black, whispering into the distance. She breathes loud so she doesn't have to hear it. The stream unnerves her, its waters black with secrets, and she pedals faster.

The crows spare her a curious glance before beating their wings towards the sun, crying for the warmth they can never touch. Leaf pays them no mind, eventually stopping by a white cottage, her foot digging into the gravel.

She pops away the bike, and the keys rattle as she fumbles with the lock. The door is old, as everything in her village is, and it creaks when she enters, as do the floorboards. She's used to it, but it doesn't stop her from hating it.

(_Always the pessimist, aren't you, Leaf Green?_)

"Oh, shut up," the brunette murmurs, collapsing beneath her blankets.

* * *

The night is pallid when she wakes up, dawn's insipid glow permeating throughout the sky. Little stars still linger, and Leaf mourns for their light; for something so grand to be so fleeting is nature's tragedy.

The curtains, like white wisps of smoke, billow in the wind. Leaf must have forgotten to close the windows before falling asleep. The floorboards are cold when she taps it with her toes.

Leaf sighs, slipping her feet into her slippers (soft and warm and fluffy), trudging along to the kitchen. There's no returning to sleep now.

The kettle hisses and whistles; the television flashes in the dark. Leaf never turns it off— habit, she supposes. There's a peculiar solace she finds in the constant, low rumbles and murmurs.

Her chest bubbles with warmth as she gulps down the hot chocolate. Curled on the couch, Leaf reaches for a book, but thoughts of visiting the graveyard today make it too easy to skim, too hard to process. She puts the book down; she'll just have to read it at another time.

* * *

She doesn't think of her mother that often, but when she does, it's like the dam in her heart breaks open and her mind floods— and Leaf is drowning, struggling against the heavy waters as they push her _down_.

Her mother, her beautiful mother, wreaking carnage on the souls of all those who remember her. It's been seven years, and Leaf thinks she's the only victim left.

The stone tablet stands proud and guilty and alone. The name is worn, blurred. Thank goodness, Leaf thinks, because she doesn't want to remember.

Leaf departs a yellow carnation by the grave before hastily making her way home, shoulders growing heavy when the rain begins to fall.

(_Rejection and disdain, huh?_)

Leaf doesn't respond.

* * *

The library is empty again, as it always is, save for the old woman.

It's an hour train ride from work to her village and Leaf is exhausted, but the library is more comfortable than the cottage so she always goes there first (even if the old woman does unsettle her).

Leaf wanders to the farthest aisles, where a grand bookcase lines the entire back wall, and she partially pulls back a book from one of the shelves— she briefly registers, with simultaneous interest and ire, that the title is that of the book she had dismissed a few days before. A small click resounds, and Leaf slides away the two cases, now detached from where it was previously embedded, to reveal a door, made of green oak (the colour repulses her, she has to admit— she finds that it completely ruins the aesthetic.

Not that anyone cares).

She runs her fingers along the grooves before she finds a small protrusion. Leaf presses into it, and the door creaks open. She proceeds forward, descending the stairs, hands on the banister to guide her down when the light gradually fades. Her nose wrinkles at the musty scent.

Eventually, her hands find yet another door, the knob of which she twists open, and she staggers into a dimly lit room with a large mirror, significantly taller than her, as its only interior.

The mirror is set into an intricately designed, yet aged, bronze frame— a film of patina on the metal, and marring blacks on the mirror itself. She always wonders how long it must have been down here for, but never asks— she wouldn't know who to ask, anyways.

Leaf sighs in disdain, but walks towards it anyways—

—and what happens next is never a surprise after the first time; it's so old, so overdone, after all.

"_Welcome back, Leaf Green._"

An innocent girl stumbles into a mirror and gets transported into another world— what's new?

* * *

**That's it, my loves. As always, please review! Constructive criticisms are welcome. If you find any mistakes, notify me and I'll correct it in a jiffy!**

**Gary will appear next chapter!**

**I tried to set a very specific tone/ atmosphere to this chapter and I hope it worked?**

_~Adieu! _

_X's and O's, _

_Liberty_


End file.
